The Path
by PinkySpots
Summary: -Spoiler-. A story about Allen's emotions when he loses his arm.


_I feel empty._

The first thoughts that appear in my mind arouse me from my sleep. I open my eyes. A white ceiling lays above me. _Where am I..?_, I ask myself. Still groggy from sleep, I slowly turn my head towards the window I noticed on my right. It's nighttime, and the moon has never looked brighter.

_The moon..the akuma.._

I jolt upright. All of a sudden the memories come flooding back. I reach for the thought I'm trying to find--but there's nothing to grasp it with. I have no arm. It takes a few moments for the shock to seep through my veins. Everything goes cold. I stare into the nothingness that is the wall opposite me. My brain refuses to function. Time stops.

.

"What is that thing?"

"Disgusting."

"The poor parents.."

My life has been laid out for me, every path built by my arm. Everything I did, felt, wanted and dreamed of always came back to rest with it. Even from day one.

My parents couldn't bear to have a disfigured child, so they sent me away. I can still remember the cold rain, hitting my face as I lay alone on the cobbled streets, without a family. My arm lay limply at my side, throbbing with uncertainty. Uncertainty that it's host, me, would live. My childish wailing echoed out into the night, with noone to answer. I could already sense the demons in the streets, the shadows looming over me. The darkness of England's seeminly twisted walls threatned to engulf me, baby that I was.

As my parents left no impact on my life, the first face I can remember was Mana's. My adoptive yet true father, the one meant to raise me. He had found me alone on the street, and took me in as his son. He understood the Innocence that lay within me, that governed my life, that was such a big part of me. He understood me. Mana taught me that I was different, I had a role to play, and that my life would not be like those of other children. He taught me not to fear but to covet my arm, the Innocence that would protect me.

"Allen, your arm is special. You have been given a gift from God, and you must always use it to destroy that which seeks to harm others."

I grew up with those words, and did as they said. I couldn't help it. The darkness would come to me anyway. The akuma. The evil specters that haunt the streets, hollow shells of the humans they previously were and yet not entirely without soul. The akuma were always attracted to the Innocence I held so deep inside my arm, and it was my job to kill. A killing-machine is what the humans called me.

I remember the first time I saved someone from being killing by an akuma. It was a middle aged woman with a young girl, presumably her daughter. They were in an enclosed alleyway. The akuma threatning them was a simple level 1, but it was enough to kill the two. After destroying it, the woman looked at me, with no gratitude in her eyes, but fear. Genuine fear, as if I were even worse than that which almost sealed her death. I was still young at the time and asked her if she and her daughter were alright. But the woman fled. Later that day I asked Mana about it. He had sighed and said, "Not everyone is going to understand, Allen. When I said you were special, I meant it. People will fear you, but must you must fight on."

It made me sad at first, but I got used to it. I killed the akuma, and got stronger. It was only a few years later that I learned the true nature of the killing machines. Mana told me one night, when he deemed me old enough to know. I remember listening to him with wide eyes, finally comprehending the grandeur of the enemy I fought.

For we, the people, created the akuma. Our despair cried out to them, made them stronger, and created more. To think that the sadness of losing a loved one was enough to kill oneself and create a weapon was beyond me. And yet it was so. The dreary lives of humans lived on, and ended. The sadness of their loved ones built up, and more akuma came.

But simply knowing of the source did not help me prevent it. Because a few years later, I created an akuma of my own. Mana died. He was the only one I had, and so when he died, my world ended. I had no one else to fight for. The night he died, the Earl came for me. My melancholy had achevied new heights I had never experienced.

"Would you like him back? 3"

Being the young, ignorant, child that I was, drenched in sorrow, I accepted. The impact of what I had done hit me early. Mana had become the skeleton of an akuma, and I destroyed him before he had a chance to kill me. But I did not come out unscathed. Before being destroyed, Mana had lashed out at my left eye, bringing with the blow a curse.

I remember his last words.

_Why, Allen?_

.

The souls of the akuma haunt me. They are what keep me going. I want to see those souls rise to the heavens, to rest in peace and harmony.

Through this all, my anti-akuma weapon has always been with me. My arm, as grotesque as it was, was a part of me. It chose my path, as I chose to accept it.

But now..it's gone. My road, my future, my purpose..is gone. I bend over and start to sob. The tears come flowing hot. Yet my heart does not waver.

_I must keep walking the path..._


End file.
